


the sun rises

by pchsnplms



Series: the kindest thing [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But He Gets Better, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kinda depressed Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pchsnplms/pseuds/pchsnplms
Summary: "For what it’s worth, Geralt does feel alive now. It’s in every inch of his body, the love flowing through him, and it’s so different from his cold, slow blood. Something so normal it almost makes him believe he’s human."2nd part to my fanfic "in the eyes of the beholder", as promised. Geralt's best attempts to overcome some dark thoughts, and first trouble in paradise of their relationship.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: the kindest thing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690765
Comments: 12
Kudos: 203





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to thank @dwaalserenity for beta reading this for me (and for her endless support <3)  
> i hope you all enjoy this as much as the first part!

As Jaskier keeps singing one song after another, Geralt finds himself practically unable to look away. They are enjoying a relatively quiet evening at a small inn after Geralt has killed some local drowners, and the bard, as always, thrives on the attention he’s getting from the villagers. It’s a rare thing for them to see a professional musician and they seem to be in awe. Geralt can’t blame them.

It’s become a fairly consistent activity in his life during the last couple of months, simply observing the bard. The way he moves, somehow graceful and slightly awkward at the same time through the tavern, swinging around the wooden pillars, and the bright smiles he keeps flashing at everyone whose eyes he meets, and his voice, too, flowing around the room, bringing life to the stories he sings about.

Geralt had been trying for quite some time to deny himself that.

He forbid himself from even thinking about the possibility of getting close to anyone, so he tried to push the bard away. It wasn’t a decision he had to question or justify. He had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t a good idea to let people in his life.

It was too dangerous, both for them and for Geralt himself. Last time he cared about someone, it turned him into the Butcher of Blaviken. The title will stay with him, no matter how hard Jaskier tries to erase it from people’s memory.

Geralt knows one thing for sure: he’s better off being the heartless, hollow person many think him to be. He has made his peace with it. He has taught himself to live in solitude, all feelings locked carefully away and hidden so deep he himself isn’t sure anymore if they existed in the first place.

A witcher is a living weapon, nothing more. A purpose, taken physical form. He will go through his life as he is, alone and cold. Anyone that could jeopardize that shouldn’t be allowed near him.

Yet, somehow, Jaskier is.

Geralt thinks it might have started the second he saw the bard for the first time. Or rather, heard him, because the witcher had been staring at his table very persistently. It was a small, barely important thing that made him feel for the bard; the rejection he faced. People yelling at him, telling him to go away, insulting him. All that made him remember the hatred with which a lot of people treated witchers, and especially, himself. Of course, it was not exactly a fair comparison, between bread and rocks being thrown, but still.  
Geralt had given Jaskier his last coin then, and it was probably his first mistake.

It would almost be funny, the way Jaskier acted, if Geralt hadn’t fallen in love with it. How stupidly brave he was, and easy-going, and dramatic at times. So absolutely full of life, it almost seemed like he could share. Perhaps, it was a part of the reason the witcher was so attracted to him. The desperate need to feel alive, at least a little bit, buried deep beneath decades of training and careful control of himself. It all shattered when the bard came along.

For what it’s worth, Geralt does feel alive now. It’s in every inch of his body, the love flowing through him, and it’s so different from his cold, slow blood. Something so normal it almost makes him believe he’s human.

Geralt was never afraid of death, often walking on the edge of seeking it and running away. He used to think that when it finally caught up to him, he would be alone, as he lived. There wouldn’t be anyone to mourn him.

That isn’t true anymore. Geralt no longer drags himself through life, watching the days pass by. Instead of an ice-cold purpose that was keeping him alive before he has a genuine desire to live now, fueled by his love for Jaskier. He doesn’t want to lose it.

To be perfectly honest, Geralt never really tried to deny his feelings for the bard. He simply couldn’t recognize them for a fairly long time. The warmth stored inside his chest, moving and twisting every time the bard was around, was subtle and grew so gradually it only became obvious when Geralt spent some time apart from Jaskier, at Kaer Morhen. And even then, it took him a bit too long to realize what exactly that feeling was.

He spent many, many hours training once that realization hit him. He didn’t know what to do about it, and the feeling scared him, so he turned to something familiar and calming: practice. Geralt was tempted to simply avoid Jaskier from that point on, at least at first, during the initial wave of panic.

Geralt still isn’t sure he’s made the right choice with Jaskier. The man opened him up, somehow, and he simply gave in. Stupidly, naively let the bard get under his skin. It was so strange. Jaskier spent countless hours near him, and never once was he scared, never once wanted to run away. Even worse, never wanted to simply leave, despite Geralt’s irritated responses, or complete lack of thereof. The thought of someone truly wanting him the way he is, overlooking all of his faults, can barely fit into Geralt’s head. But Jaskier is the living proof of it being possible.

The bard beams and winks at him from across the room, and he allows himself to smile. At that moment, he barely has any doubt that it’s all worth it.

A moment later, however, his good mood disappears. Some men at the counter start whistling, interrupting Jaskier’s singing, and one of them shouts, “Shut up, yer fucking peacock!” Laughter follows, loud and sharp, from the little group gathered around the asshole who’s now standing up. He has a raggedy appearance, a bit shorter than Jaskier but stronger, with an empty bottle in his hand. There’s a woman near him who’s been eyeing the bard from the moment they came in. Jealousy, then. People can be such petty bastards sometimes. Geralt breathes in slowly, forcing himself to calm down.

In the meantime, Jaskier plays the finishing accord of his ballad, wrapping up after one verse. He glares at the man who interrupted him. Seconds pass in silence as the two stare at each other; the bard with clear fury in his eyes, and the other man, growing less sure of himself by the moment. Geralt chuckles.

Then, Jaskier starts walking across the tavern extremely determined.

“What the fuck did you just call me? Listen to me, you uneducated pig, I’ll speak plainly, for you clearly won’t be able to understand any words longer than two syllables. You behave,” Jaskier grabbed a knife from a nearby table and pointed it at the man, “like you’re itching to get in trouble. And if you try to interrupt me one more time, this knife will get _considerably_ closer to your throat! So unless you-”

A friend of the thug gets up and, rather unexpectedly, punches Jaskier in the jaw. Geralt can tell it’s going to happen mere moments before it does, but he’s sitting on the opposite end of the room, unable to prevent it. He doesn’t hesitate to make a beeline straight towards the fight though.

Because it turns into a fight extremely quickly. After getting hit, Jaskier drops the knife and throws himself towards the attacker, headbutting him. Another guy gets in between them, dragging the bard away by the hair. Jaskier reaches down, grabs the knife, and blindly pokes it somewhere behind himself getting the man’s arm. That sets the bard free.  
He stands up and cracks his neck, clearly enjoying himself. By that point, Geralt is right behind him.

And here’s the thing; it would probably be smart to grab the bard by his collar, apologize to the innkeeper and avoid most of the trouble. But Jaskier is clearly in the right. These men were very rude, and they should at least start regretting it before they all get thrown out of the inn.

So Geralt smirks, meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and punches the nearest man. When another tries to launch himself towards him, the witcher waits for the right moment, grabs the man by the waist and hauls him across a table. Meanwhile, Jaskier dodges another punch from one of the men and, grinning, hits him in the gut. Then, he kicks the last of the assholes while he’s lying on the ground, and straightens his jacket.

“All right, then. Do you think I should keep singing or?..”

“How about a private performance?” Geralt asks, so quietly only the bard can hear him. “We’d better get into our room before the owner gets here and kicks us out.”

“I like the sound of that! Well,” Jasker turns to the crowd of people watching them, “it seems like I will have to retire for tonight, my good ladies and gentlemen! These terrible men, oh! To think, someone would start a fight with a humble bard and just… Ah, what a gruesome lot!”

While finishing his dramatic speech of nonsense rambling, Jaskier gets to the flight of stairs leading to the rooms and scurries up. Geralt follows him, still smiling. _This fucking man._ The people in the tavern honest to gods seem to sympathize with him. When the innkeeper returns, everyone will probably tell her about how Jaskier was a poor victim. Well, good for him.

When they enter their room, Geralt locks the door and comes up to Jaskier, gently touching his bleeding lip. He can smell blood, both the bard’s and someone else’s, and there are a couple of stains on his clothes. He’ll definitely be upset when he notices them.

“Anything else hurt?”

“Mm, why, will you kiss it better?”

He sighs and tries to look at least a little annoyed. “Jaskier.”

“Fine, be boring then. My, uh- my arm is still bleeding, I think.”

After they sit down on the bed, the witcher turns to face Jaskier and carefully takes off his jacket, and then his undershirt. There is a wound near his shoulder. It’s not too deep, Geralt observes, and says so with relief. As he cleans the wound and bandages it up, the bard stays quiet. Geralt frowns as he tries to look him in the eyes.

“What’s wrong? It hurts?”

Jaskier gives him a weak smile.

“No, it’s nothing. Just, you know, a bunch of dickheads decided to ruin my performance.”

Geralt tilts his head, listening. Jaskier’s tone is light, as it is more often than not, but the witcher knows him well enough to know that this incident must have hurt him. Despite his usual bravado, and this carefree attitude, some things do get to him.

“I haven’t done anything to anger them, have I? Just seems a bit unfair,” the bard says, leaning his forehead on Geralt’s shoulder, and he hugs him.

“You haven’t. They were drunk, Jask, and probably looking for a fight.”

“A shame. I really do just want to make people happy. That’s the whole point of being a musician! Bringing people joy and smiles! Apart from becoming famous and being loved by everyone, that is.”

“You seem to be pretty successful in all of those things,” the witcher smiles, gently caressing Jaskier’s hair.

“I am, aren’t I?”

He looks in Geralt’s eyes with a playful smile and softly kisses him. Geralt moves to his neck, avoiding hurting his sore jaw, and plants wet, messy kisses there. As the bard climbs on his lap, they both moan quietly. 

Jaskier starts moving his hips in a slow, teasing rhythm, and Geralt can barely keep himself from rolling them over and pining the other man to the bed. When Jaskier gently pulls his hair, he takes a deep breath, enjoying the bard’s smell, mixed with ale in his breath and sweat. As well as the sharp, heavy scent of arousal.

“So, how about that private performance?”


	2. chapter 2

Geralt doesn’t particularly care about the seasons during the year until the time comes for him to go on his well-deserved vacation in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, on the other hand, seems to be flourishing throughout spring and summer. As soon as the first snowdrops appear, it’s like he becomes lighter, there’s no end to his constant chatter, and he moves around twice as much as a normal person does. Geralt honestly wonders sometimes if he is human, after all.

With summer comes hot weather and constant sunshine, which the witcher has never been a fan of. He doesn’t mind the cold, or the darkness; moreover, he often feels comfortable with them. But along with the warmth comes a few other things that certainly make him enjoy summers much more.

Jaskier almost completely abandons his fancy suits in favor of lighter, flowy shirts that he never buttons up all the way. The fabric, although embroidered, often appears to be almost see-through, and _that_ Geralt doesn’t mind at all, especially when there’s no one else around to enjoy the view.

Another thing is that these days Jaskier insists they swim in every lake and river they see, and he takes his time, unlike during colder seasons. Often enough, the witcher joins him, and their bathing leads to more interesting things; sometimes, he stays on the shore and simply watches Jaskier. The bard likes to put on a good show, too.

Their sparring becomes less professional than it used to be, but that scarcely comes as a surprise. They still keep the tradition going, however, both for the sake of improving Jaskier’s skill and as an excuse to get some physical contact. 

Not that they need a justification, especially Jaskier. The freedom with which he touches Geralt makes the witcher slightly tense at first. He’s not used to the things Jaskier does on a daily basis, such as brushing his hair, or leaning on his shoulder, or mindlessly kissing him on the cheek. The strangest part is, none of it usually leads to sex. The bard seems to be keeping his hands on Geralt simply for the sake of it.

It takes some time for the witcher to get used to that, and even more to adopt the habit, though he does so with great pleasure. He doesn’t really know how to be as gentle, but he tries his best, holding the bard’s hand, sitting ridiculously close to him. Every step that brings him closer to Jaskier takes a strange amount of courage from him.

And with each of those steps, he can feel his love growing, finally free from where it was hidden deep inside his soul.

Geralt gets so attached to the bard he can hardly imagine him being permanently gone one day. It's a terrifying and horrible thought that leaves dark stains on his heart, yet he can hardly chase it away. Each time Jaskier is even slightly hurt, or simply gets into danger, Geralt sees it creeping around the corner, the dark hopeless shade of his future where Jaskier is long gone. He almost wishes he never got involved with him at all.

Soon, the witcher starts leaving Jaskier behind in taverns when he goes hunting. He watches him carefully around strangers, and especially in larger towns. It barely does anything but annoy the bard, and most of the time he ends up sneaking into the monster lairs with Geralt anyway. And he certainly doesn't take any precautions in cities, being as loud and attention-seeking as he's ever been.

It's a fight waiting to happen, Geralt knows. One day, when he tells Jaskier to stay in the inn while he goes off to slay a wendigo the other man crosses his arms and looks up at him with a stubborn glint in his eyes.

"No way."

"Jaskier, it's a very dangerous monster."

"Well, you’d be better to have some help, then. Namely, me, with a bag of potions and an extra sword."

"Wendigos are immune to steel."

"So what? I'm not staying behind, I've told you this far too many times already!"

"I can do this alone. Please," Geralt pleads. He hates this. They never really have major disagreements, and he doesn't want their relationship to end because of Jaskier's reckless love for adventures.

"That's always a problem with you, isn't it? I know you can do it alone, and I congratulate you on that! But you aren't alone anymore, alright?! I am here, I'm a part of your life now, and you can't just put me away and pick me up as you please!"

"I don't! I am well aware you are not some toy without free will, believe me."

"Oh, really? Maybe let me use that free will, then!"

"You can do whatever the fuck you want, as long as you aren't being a dead weight while I'm trying to do my job! I don't have the time to look after you, Jaskier!"

The bard's lips become a thin line, and he looks at Geralt with a cold he's rarely seen in those eyes before.

"Is that what I am? A dead weight around your shoulders?"

"No, I… No."

Jaskier sighs. "Geralt, just tell me honestly. Do you even want me around anymore?"

The witcher can't hold his gaze for long. He wishes he knew the answer himself. His words always get so twisted, and come out completely wrong, yet he can't deny the fact that having Jaskier around has been hard for him. If he's being frank, maybe it would be better if the bard had left him.

Geralt can't protect him from all the dangers he faces. So, perhaps, Jaskier shouldn't be near him at all.

"Great, silence is exactly what you want to hear in these scenarios, isn't it? Brilliant. You know what, you go ahead and deal with that fucking thing, and I'll see you when I see you."  
With that, Jaskier turns on his heels and leaves the room.

Suddenly, Geralt feels absolutely empty, and he almost welcomes the familiar sensation. While he sharpens his sword and gets ready for battle, he struggles not to notice the bard's scent on himself. He tries not to think where Jaskier will go, what he's going to do now that it's over. He hopes the bard will forget him soon enough.

The wendigo must be running wild in the forest, active as it is in the nighttime. Walking into the woods, Geralt can hear distant breathing, fast and shallow, that escape its rotted lungs. It can hear him, too. He doesn’t try to hide his presence; the quicker he gets the monster’s attention the sooner it will be over, one way or another, as it always is.

Wendigo are deadly beasts, something that was once human but is not anymore. They are reminiscent of a man, though they barely have any meat on their bones, and their eyes are pitch black, not a shadow of any life left in them.

Geralt imagines his scarcely looks different.

It runs around him in circles, sometimes getting so far he can no longer hear it, sometimes coming so close he thinks he can see the shadow lurking behind the trees. The witcher walks through the forest with his blade drawn and waits for its attack. He’s not fast enough to chase it.

At some point, all noises stop. The woods are dead silent, with all the animals scared away by the beast. The wendigo itself, finally reading for a fight.

Likely, it has never seen a witcher before. It has only had to face humans, slow and unsuspecting, and Geralt isn’t in a hurry to reveal himself. He keeps walking slowly, even though he knows he’s being hunted. The monster is hiding behind the bushes to his left, he’s tense and ready to deflect any attack that comes his way, and then there are two footsteps, barely audible, and the wendigo jumps him with inhuman speed and strength.

He turns just in time to hit it with a sword. It moves to the side, nearly escaping the blow, and hides in the darkness, not knowing yet that Geralt can see it nonetheless. He can also scent its blood, a dark, ill-smelling liquid that slowly drips down its side.

Not a second later, the wendigo launches itself towards Geralt again, and this time he barely manages to hit it flat with his blade. He puts enough strength behind it for the beast to fall on the ground a few feet away from him. It tries to stand up, but the witcher quickly steps closer to it. Another blow hits its neck, and the creature lets out a shriek, one that would make anyone's blood go cold inside their veins. It’s a nice metaphor, Geralt finds himself thinking. Jaskier should use it.

As he sees the beast rise to its feet, he rolls away in an attempt to escape its sharp claws. The wendigo only leaves him with four stripes on his back, not yet bleeding, not yet hurting. The potions he took are still working.

They are both on their feet, out in the open of this small clearing, and so the dance begins. Geralt takes two steps to his right; the creature does the same. One predator carefully watching the other, one not confident enough to attack yet, the other, simply waiting.

Finally, the wendigo gets on all fours and runs up to the witcher. Moonlight falls on its ripped, white skin. Geralt can see the bones moving under it. The monster attacks him with all its force, confused and scared to be fighting someone as quick and strong, in a desperate attempt to get through his defenses.

It only ends up tiring the beast out. When its blows become slightly weaker, Geralt knows it is time to strike. He kicks it in the knee, breaking the bone, and the wendigo falls. As it does, he brings up his sword, and then shoves it right in the back of the creature’s neck.

He turns the blade, and cuts the head clean off, putting it in a dirty old bag he’d brought with him.

As Geralt gets closer to the village, he realizes that he and Jaskier booked only one room at the inn. It would obviously be too awkward if they had to sleep together now, so he decides to spend the night outside. The witcher doesn't want to face any more confrontations than necessary; the break up was harsh enough.

Even though he knows the woods are safe now, he lies restless all night. As Geralt watches the stars above him move slowly, he can’t help but to think, was it a mistake? With Jaskier, he was much happier. But the bard’s life is so fragile, and it would be over soon enough without Geralt putting him in constant danger. No, this is easier for both of them.  
He returns to the inn after sunrise. Some of the locals are gathered there already, waiting for him to confirm that they are no longer in danger. He puts the bag stinking of rot on the counter, and the innkeeper tosses him a small purse. Two hundred silvers gathered by the villagers, just as they agreed.

After that, Geralt comes up to grab his things and stops before entering the room. He can smell Jaskier behind the door, still inside and awake. The witcher braces himself and comes in.

He furrows, confused as ever, when Jaskier immediately comes up to him with clear worry written all over his features.

"Where have you been all night?" the bard asks.

"In the woods," he says after a short pause.

"In the- what the fuck were you doing there?! Surely, it didn’t take you that long to kill the wendigo!"

"Sleeping?"

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief. 

"You are lucky that I'm as prideful as I am, because were I not, I would have gone looking for you. I would ruin my new boots rummaging through that bloody forest, and when I found your sorry ass, I'd kick it back to Kaer Morhen, and I'd make sure you wouldn't be able to walk out of there until next spring, you- you inconsiderate- clueless bastard!"  
Geralt just stands there, unsure what the fuck is happening.

"I thought you wouldn't want to see me again."

"Ohh, no, no-no-no. When I said 'I see you when I see you', it was very much a threat, not a goodbye, my dear witcher. We are not done until you actually talk to me and explain why the fuck you keep pushing me away like that."

"I'm not pushing you away," Geralt’s brow furrows.

The bard raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "No? Because if I recall correctly, you've been insisting I stay at taverns wherever we go, be it in the middle of nowhere or a city, while you go on with your life! I keep following you, and you keep leaving me behind!"

Geralt purses his lips, suddenly feeling exhausted. He has never been good with his words, and right now, he can barely keep his thoughts together, not to mention articulate them coherently.

"That is not how it is, Jaskier."

"How is it, then?” the bard spreads his arms and sighs. “I understand your life wasn't exactly all flowers and sunshine, and some things are hard for you, I truly do. But that doesn't give you an excuse to act like my presence is a burden to you, and tell me you love me the next second! So. Here it is. Either you tell me what is going through that pretty head of yours, or, I don't know, I kick your ass."

The witcher shuffles farther into the room and sits down onto the bed, running a hand through his tangled hair. He takes his time to figure out what to say. After a second or two, Jaskier crouches down next to him and looks at him patiently.

“Being next to me is dangerous," the witcher says finally. "The monsters I fight, the people who might want to kill me, the places I have to travel where death lurks around every corner. And no matter how hard I try, I won’t always be able to protect you,” Geralt clenches his fists, remembering Renfri. He certainly failed at protecting _her_. No, having people so close to him is never a good idea. He _should_ be alone. “Just leave me, Jaskier. Before you get hurt.”

There is a pause before the other man answers.

“Witcher, look me in the eye and tell me honestly, do you think I could survive this long if I didn’t know how to get myself out of trouble? How many dangerous people I’ve offended in my life, do you think? I kid you not, I have been quite literally hunted once.”

Geralt looks at him, deadpan.

“What, you don’t believe me? I swear, it was some crazy rich lady who found me in her husband’s arms. A bit of an overreaction, if you ask me, chasing me across the whole continent. Though, I did sleep with her just a day before... Well, that’s not the point! The point is, I’m not some helpless little duckling that needs your protection every three seconds!”

“Hmm,” the witcher says, unconvinced.

Jaskier wets his lips and glances around the room in exasperation.

“Oh, come on! You taught me to fight, which I got fairly decent at, might I add. I can deal with most people, being not only a noble, but also a famous bard. And if I happen to encounter a beast, I’d be much safer by your side than alone, don’t you think?”

Geralt finds himself being almost coerced into letting the bard stay with him. True enough, if Jaskier has to travel (which he does, being a minstrel), he’ll most likely face monsters anyway, and with Geralt, he'll be safer. But, wait a moment...

“Hold on, a noble?”

“Ah, yes. Did I not tell you? Julian Alfred Pankratz, viscount de Lettenhove, at your service,” Jaskier gets up and elegantly bows.

“No fucking way,” Geralt snorts, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Since the bard already looks mildly offended, he adds, “Right, fine. A viscount, then.”

“Exactly,” a few beats pass in silence. “Look, Geralt, I know you think you’re being all cold and rational here, but does it really make sense to cut me off because you’re afraid? As in, to definitely lose me now, as opposed to possibly - not likely! - lose me later?”

There is a short silence.

“Smartass.”

“I _am_ incredibly smart, thank you very much.”

Before he can decide for sure, Geralt feels something warm blooming inside his chest, and finally breathes with ease. He chuckles and pulls Jaskier onto his lap, lightly kissing the bard.

“So I convinced you?” Jaskier asks, smiling against Geralt's lips.

“M-hm.”


	3. chapter 3

It’s not easy. Figuring out how to live when he’s not alone anymore. Opening up, both to Jaskier and the world as a whole. But Geralt thinks he’s getting better at it. Slowly, steadily. He doesn’t particularly feel like a new person, no, but he sees everything in a slightly different light. As if he’s spent all these years in the night, and now the sun is finally rising.

There are still dark, vague clouds casting shadows; they appear seemingly out of nowhere, reminders of just how grim his life used to be. Geralt's ever-present doubts, unwanted thoughts that do not feel like his own, silhouettes of the past. When they come, it's hard to remember that happiness exists at all.

Yet Geralt moves forward, still. He fights them the best he can, and thankfully, now there's someone by his side in this battle.

The next few years of his life are filled with love and warmth. He makes new memories. Jaskier with his head on Geralt’s lap. His songs. Flowers braided in Geralt’s hair. A crown of them, on Jaskier’s head. Kids gathered on a street and excited to see a witcher. People, grateful for their saved lives. Honeyed mead and the taste of it on Jaskier’s lips. His hands on Geralt’s body. A few friends met all over the continent. The other witchers. Cold evenings spent by the fireplace in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, whispering in Geralt’s ear. Warm waters of a lake hidden far away from any human villages. Quiet forests full of life. Jaskier’s tattoo, lit up by sunlight as they lie in the middle of a field, sweet-smelling summer herbs all around them. Geralt traces it with his fingers almost absent-minded, a habit he picked up long ago.

More memories. Bathwater splashed all over the floor. Jaskier pressed up against him. Dirty clothes and torn away buttons. Jaskier’s bitter taste on Geralt’s tongue. Wrinkled bed sheets. Geralt, arching his back, feeling the bard’s hot, fast breaths against the back of his neck.

Every now and then, they part ways. Sometimes the bard goes to the Oxenfurt Academy where he studied during university, and gives lectures. Every winter, Geralt leaves for Kaer Morhen. Their separations never last too long, and each time, they find each other.

Geralt is traveling alone right now, and passing through cities, he hears things. The infamous Jaskier gets in fights, and steals people's hearts, and makes new enemies, and more admirers. He is often seen wearing a big black shirt, old and clearly tailored for someone else. His latest performances have nearly everyone in tears, so beautiful and bittersweet is his ballad about being apart from the love of his life. Eventually, people start to speculate that the minstrel has found a lover.

Geralt smiles softly to himself upon hearing that rumor. Then, he pays for his ale and walks out of the tavern, straight for the local lord’s castle. He’s got a banquet to attend, and someone there to surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's Jaskier. he's going there to surprise Jaskier.  
> thank you for reading!


End file.
